


gotham's rumor mill is just a bunch of [redacted] vigilantes

by popoyoy11



Series: good habits [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Batfamily Shenanigans, Crack, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Slice of Life, gross misrepresentation of mental illness, half fluff half crack, wrong description of depersonalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 20:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popoyoy11/pseuds/popoyoy11
Summary: “I’m serious! The Justice League members are idiots! Their mission records are ugly! Have you seen their retrieval time?” Tim whisper-yells.Jason can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh—oh McFucking God, you can’t just say shit like that. Superman will hear you and he will smite you.”Tim deadpans. "Do I look like I care?"-Just a regular week in the life of Jason and Tim.





	gotham's rumor mill is just a bunch of [redacted] vigilantes

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes to note before you read this fic:
> 
> 1\. Tim's costume is his unternet costume I can't stress that enough  
> 2\. Jason's been with the family for like a year, that's why he's so at ease at them.  
> 3\. I don't read Duke so I don't know how he is, very sorry if he's OOC  
> 4\. I wrote this because I was feeling really detached, the thing that's going on with Tim might be depersonalization-derealization. I don't really know, please forgive me. This just spiraled out of control after the second part  
> 5\. I love you all with all my melon heart, please enjoy!

“Tim, hey, Tim.”

Tim doesn’t register the fingers snapping right under his nose until the hand attached to them reaches out to grab him. Tim dodges out of the reach. Without thought, he snatches the hand out of midair and slams it down to the table with a loud _thunk_.

Tim blinks, the hand pinned under his doesn’t move, goes lax instead.

“Tim, what the fuck,” Jason spits out.

Tim traces the offending limb from its digits back to its owner, only to see Jason scowling at him, half of his body leaning across the wide table between them. 

“Tim, my hand,” he whispers pointedly.

Tim pulls back his hand like it’s burned. “Sorry,” he says.

Jason huffs, rubbing his wrist before settling down on his chair again, eyes darting around to make sure nobody’s looking at them. A reflex, too, Tim thinks. Nobody else is in the library aside from them. Jason told him earlier that the other students prefer the newer library, the one with the wifi and hundreds of outlets.

Jason likes the old one. Tim likes to think it’s because it resembles the one at the manor, the feel of it. All polished wood and the smell of old paper. It’s doesn’t have wifi or AC but they don’t mind very much. They bring their own portable internet modem and besides, Gotham is warm enough in May to not need any AC.

Tim diverts his attention back to his laptop once Jason continues typing on his. He stops, staring at the screen, the unfamiliar document bearing unfamiliar numbers. What was he doing? He was—he was—

“Tim?”

Tim looks up and finds Jason frowning at him, worry in the downward pull of his lips. “You okay?”

Tim opens his mouth but finds nothing to deliver from inside his head. “I think.”

“You sure?”

Tim nods. “I’m just,” he starts, his hand motioning to his head, “a little bit empty up here.”

Jason’s face relaxes. “Oh,” he says. “Do you want to go home? I’m done with my essay anyway.”

“Oh well, in that case.”

-

They take the long way to the parking lot. The old library was situated way back near the old administration building. Jason parked his bike on the front grounds, near the new buildings that people actually use nowadays.

Spring is just around the corner, making everything green and mossy. Jason glances at Tim who’s walking a little bit ahead of him. The younger boy seems distracted—has been for the whole day now. His eyes are unfocused. In the library earlier, he’d opened his laptop and just—stared at it for two hours. Did nothing but stare at it. Jason feels bad because he’d only noticed near the end of their stay. (hyperfixation—he’ll apologize later).

They emerge from the back of the Thomas Wayne building (yes, Thomas Wayne as in the father of Bruce Wayne, Bruce donates a hefty amount of money to the university annually—moreover now that Jason is in it) and slowly make their way across the campus square. As Tim passes by, people turn their heads and whisper. Tim didn’t seem to pay any attention to that. Jason catches up to him and sure enough, Tim’s looking ahead but his eyes are distant.

One of _those_ days then.

By the time they’re rounding up to Jason’s bike, a small mass of people had accumulated behind them.

Jason isn’t worried about anybody recording them together. People are already speculating that he’s the Waynes’ bodyguard, but Tim’s not exactly in his best shape to be fielding hordes of fans right now.

“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!” somebody shouts from behind them.

Tim doesn’t respond, doesn’t even seem to hear it. Jason nudges Tim’s arm. Tim blinks, stares at him and says nothing.

“Somebody’s looking for you.”

“Oh,” Tim frowns, “right.”

They turn around and finds a short girl with purple hair calling out to Tim, walking briskly towards them.

Tim’s eyes widen. “Sam,” he says as the girl approaches. Something shifts in Tim’s stance and body language. He smiles at her when she’s close enough, pleasant and charming, easily handsome, slipping into another person entirely. By the time the girl reaches them, Tim isn’t here anymore, it’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Inc.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry to bother you on your way home,” she says, she opens her carry-on bag and pulls out a manila envelope. “I looked for you in the library, but you weren’t there,” she continues. “Here you go, Mr. Wayne,” she offers the envelope to Tim, “this is this month’s Wayne Youth report. I already sent one to your father, but he told me to give a copy to you, too.”

Tim takes the envelope and tucks it underneath his arm. “Thank you, I’ll look this over when I get home,” he continues, semi-automatic. “Swing by the manor sometimes, Alfred has a plate of cookies with your name on it.”

Sam smiles brightly at him. “I will.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.” Tim dips his head in acknowledgement.

“Sure, say hi to Dick for me, please tell him the kids miss him.”

“Will do,” Tim salutes, already walking away.

People were whispering again now, louder, and Jason can’t stand it. He crosses his arms and tries to look imposing, which isn’t very hard for him. “What are you all looking at? Scram.” He addresses the crowd.

Just like that, it disperses except, of course, for the girl with the purple hair.

She narrows her eyes accusingly at Jason. “What are you, his bodyguard?”

Jason shrugs. “Somewhat.”

“Never seen you around before,” she says again.

Jason grins his most menacing smile. “If you don’t quit it right now, I’ll make sure nobody won’t see _you_ around anymore.”

Sam holds his gaze for five seconds, during which she doesn’t seem to be willing to give up. But she does eventually. She walks away with a sneer and her hands in her pockets.

When Jason goes to look for him, Tim is already far away.

Jason jogs after Tim and snags his arm, pulling him back gently.

“Tim,” he calls, stopping Tim mid-stride, “we missed my bike.”

Tim stops. Stares blankly at Jason, eyes wide. “What?” he asks, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I know what my bike looks like, and we left it way,” he points back with his thumb, “over there.”

“Okay,” Tim replies, then he looks at the manila envelope on his hands. “Okay, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Jason holds Tim’s arm all the way to his bike, he makes a quick work of revving the engine, and within minutes, they were already speeding down the road, Tim’s arms hanging loosely around Jason’s middle.

-

When they reach the Manor, Tim seems a little more focused.

“I think I’m out of it today,” Tim starts, his hand clutching the bannister. “Like, really out of it, head’s really empty and everything’s underwater.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, you don’t say.”

They ascend the stairs in silence, walks down the hall until both Jason _and_ Tim are in front of Jason’s room.

“Um.” Tim blinks.

Jason throws his gaze at the ceiling and suppresses a sigh. “Come on, let’s go find Dick, we’ll watch movies until you fall asleep.”

He doesn’t have to pull on Tim’s sleeve to know his little brother is following him.

-

Bruce walks in on his boys in various states of undress on the floor. Save his third son, who’s snoring away on the couch, bundled in at least two blankets, and Damian, who regards Bruce’s entrance from the armchair with a bored stare that screams _don’t ask me._

“I’ll throw my Beretta in the mix if you give Duke a 4+ card,” Jason offers.

Duke makes a sound of protest. “Hey! That’s not fair.”

Dick frowns. “Jason, I don’t need your _gun_.”

“Fine! Five days of free breakfast on my Hilton safehouse.”

Dick perks up. “Really?”

“Dick, man, you can’t just sell me out like that. What happened to dignity?” Duke questions, offended by Dick’s apparent will to trade him for food.

“Screw dignity, I’m gonna make Jason make me Hollandaise,” Dick says, throwing down the 4+ onto the mound of cards on the floor.

Jason pumps his fist, Duke groans.

Jason throws one of his two last cards onto the pile. “Uno, bitches!” he yells.

Bruce clears his throat.

Jason stops his movements. Three heads turn to look at him, standing on the doorway.

“Oh, hey, Bruce.” Duke smiles at him.

“Do I want to know what’s going on here?” Bruce replies.

“Well,” Duke scratches the back of his head, “we started out with strip poker, but it got boring because we’re all already shameless anyway, so we tried Uno instead,” he continues, “two hours and three really, really, intense game later, here we are.”

“Uhuh.”

“Tim was out of it today, so we decided to keep him company,” Dick elaborates, gathering the cards in his hands.

Bruce glances at Tim. “Okay.”

“Anyways, Jason owes me a lot now, like, _a lot_.”

“I see.”

“Do you…” Jason starts, looking up at Bruce, Bruce lifts an eyebrow, “wanna play, old man?”

Jason smirks at Bruce in the way that implies he _thinks_ could possibly _destroy_ Bruce (he couldn’t, he’d let the boy know in a while). Bruce knows he’s going to say yes, he never backs down from challenge, but he makes a show of pondering for exactly five seconds before relenting. For pride’s sake.

He walks over and sits down with his boys in a circle.

“So, what are we playing?”

-

They play monopoly, because _of course_ it’s a good idea to play monopoly with Bruce Wayne.

“How are you so good at this?” Dick asks, pained. “Am I in jail, again?”

“Yes, you are. Jason, you owe the bank $20.000,” Bruce states matter-of-factly.

“What? But you _own_ the bank!”

“Correct.”

“Oh my God, I give up,” Dick declares, flopping down on his side. “I can’t believe you manifested all capitalistic stereotypes in monopoly.”

“This is why I’m a socialist,” Jason grits out.

Bruce keeps a blank face.

Duke, who is the only one with common sense, had migrated away before the game even started somewhere to the direction of the TV and is playing X-Box with Damian. Bantering amicably with the latter, to Bruce’s absolute delight.

“You better not hit me with that mushroom, Damian, Damian, _Damian!”_

“All’s fair in love and war, Thomas.”

Bruce leaves his two sons to fend for their own and goes to check on his third. Tim shifts sideways and the blanket that was covering his face slides down. His brows are furrowed, face scrunched up. Bruce crouches in front of his son, and runs gentle fingers through his hair, the way his own father used to when he thought Bruce was sleeping. Tim sighs contently, expression going slacker, and slacker. He stays like that for a couple of minutes, basking in the moment. Behind him, all his other kids are clattering things about noisily.

“I _dare_ you to call Hal Jordan and ask him if his refrigerator is running.”

Bruce sighs, presses a kiss on top of Tim’s head and stands up.

“Children,” he starts, already exasperated.

Time to sort out the mess they’re inevitably making.

-

Tim wakes up to a tinny noise coming from somewhere around him, and a voice, talking in a hushed tone. He opens his eyes to a darkened room, the only thing that’s emitting light is the TV in front of the couch he’s lying on top of.

Tim stretches, joints popping and locking with the effort.

“You’re using your batman voice,” Tim mumbles sleepily, craning his neck up so he can get a better look at Bruce, sitting on the armchair.

Bruce pauses in the middle of his phone call.

“Yeah. Tim’s awake. I’ll call you back. Later,” he murmurs. Bruce watches Tim closely as he stirs awake, turning the call off and putting the phone carefully in his pocket.

Tim sits up slowly, rearranges himself so he’s leaning against the back of the couch, feet grazing the carpeted floor underneath. His stomach churns. He must be hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything but a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Bruce regards him carefully.

“Where’s everybody?”

“Patrol.” Bruce answers. “They waited all evening for you to wake up, but you didn’t. So, they left.”

“Oh,” Tim frowns. It’s dark outside, the sun had still been up when he fell asleep. “What time is it?”

“Just a little after midnight.”

Tim nods, then a thought strikes him. “Wait, why aren’t _you_ out?”

Bruce walks over to where Tim is, sitting on the armchair of the long couch. “Dick has everything under control.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I heard you weren’t feeling well.”

 “ _You_ stayed home because _I_ wasn’t feeling well?” He accuses. Tim probably shouldn’t have said it like that. Tim doesn’t care. Much.

If his words affect Bruce, he doesn’t’ show it on his face. He looks at Tim with a straight-face. “Yes.”

“That’s,” he remarks, “a little bit out of character.”

Bruce’s passive face breaks and he gives Tim a secretive smile. “Jason might have traded in a bit of favor, so I’d stay with you.”

Tim snorts. “I knew it.”

“Tim,” Bruce says, serious, he reaches out to put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “If I knew you weren’t going to be alright, I would have chosen to stay no matter what.”

Tim allows himself to be indulgent and leans into the touch. “I know, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m feeling better, though. I can run comms if you want to go,” Tim gestures to the air in front of him, “do whatever you have to do.”

“Alfred’s mission control tonight,” Bruce replies.

“Is there any specific mission?”

“No, nothing.”

“Then I can take over, right?”

Bruce deliberates for a beat too long. “…I suppose so.”

“Alright, let’s go, _Dad_ ,” Tim says, rolling his eyes, but his tone is fond, “I’m fine, I swear. Now go change into your fursuit and fight bad guys.”

Bruce is visibly affronted by Tim’s words now. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling it a fursuit?”

-

Tim’s eyes roam the many monitors in front of him. There are about twelve separate screens feeding him different information about each family member. He types as he listens, scans for anything suspicious, and sends out backup data. “So, you’re telling me that Damian has a boyfriend? Isn’t he a little too young for that?” Tim inquires over the comms.

“Drake,” came Damian’s threatening reply, “if you do not stop talking, I _will_ disembowel you when I get back.”

“I don’t think so,” Nightwing adds. “I started dating around Damian’s age, didn’t you, too?”

“Well, yeah,” Tim drawls, “but I’m like, a normal human person.”

“ _Drake_. I have an impressive collection of swords and I _will not hesitate_ to use it against you.”

“Chatter,” Batman growls.

Tim huffs as the conversation dies down. The red blip in the corner-screen that indicates Jason’s position hasn’t moved in 10 minutes. That’s two minutes longer than his average. “Red Hood, status?”

“Fine,” Jason pauses. “It’s just.”

“Just?” Tim asks.

“There’s a cat.”

“…okay?” Tim hesitates, uncertain what to do with the information. “Then please leave it?”

“It has a bat-symbol on its chest.”

Tim doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“It looks like Tim.”

“What—”

“Bring it home!” Nightwing yells.

“Red Hood, do not bring the cat home.”

“Aww, who’s the little cutie? You are! Yes, you are!”

“Jesus, Todd.”

“But what about Alfred the cat?”

“They’ll get along fine,” Red Hood reassures them.

“The one it won’t get along with is—Whoa!”

“Um—guys,” the Signal cuts into the conversation. “I hate to interrupt, but Nightwing is kind of hovering in the air right now.”

“Whoa,” Jason agrees. “I think Supes is here, Wonder Woman, too.”

“Signal, you got visual?”

“I was only a couple of blocks away from Nightwing’s location. Supes just grabbed him and flew towards the… uh, docks.” Which is where Batman is right now. Tim curses. “Batman, I think Trinity is happening.”

“Copy that,” Batman replies. “Robin, get back to mission control. Red Hood, Signal, initiate protocol Trinity.”

“Roger that,” came the multiple affirmative replies.

-

On their way to the docks, Tim opens a separate line with Jason. “So, other-Dad and Mom are here, wonder why.”

Jason laughs. “You are aware that Clark can totally hear you, right?”

“I’m aware, hi Clark,” Tim greets. “I don’t want Batman to listen in, I don’t mind other-dad.”

“My hypothesis? I think other-Dad and Mom miss Dad,” Dick chimes in.

“Wait, why is Nightwing in this line? I thought Supes brought him along?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jason, of course Dick is in this line,” Tim states.

“Yeah, I’m with Clark, he says hi by the way, and his face is just—red. Wow I did not know you could turn that red.”

“Nightwing,” Tim scolds him, “stop embarrassing the Kryptonian.”

“What, I just told him that maybe he misses our beloved Dad.”

“We’re using the term Dad too much for it to be ironic anymore,” Jason points out.

“Then stop using it.”

“Using other-Dad, Mom, and _Batman_ in the same sentence and the same context is just weird, and I can’t call him by his real name,” Tim rationalizes.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“Anyway, bold of you to assume that Batman didn’t know Clark and Diana would be here.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Jason concurs. “If he didn’t know, he would’ve been having—kittens. By now.”

“You think you’re clever,” Tim deadpans, “but you’re not.”

There’s a brief noise of scuffle from Nightwing’s end and then Clark’s voice streams across the channel.

“Hi, kids.”

“Hi, Clark!”

“Hey.”

“Could you do me a favor? Could you maybe not gossip about your father?” the _and me and Diana, and our possibly existent or non-existent polyamory_ were not said out loud, “I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” _neither do I,_ Clark doesn’t say. “We’re here about a Justice League mission.”

“Aw,” Tim responds, disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? We can call Kon over and we can have a picnic tomorrow. I won’t even pick a fight with Damian. Maybe.”

“It’s—Thank you for the invitation, Tim. Some other time, maybe.”

“Wait, is Batman coming along on your mission? Are you picking him up?”

“I don’t think so, Tim. He told me he doesn’t have time for off-world missions. Besides, it’s nothing serious, just diplomatic. We _do_ however, need Nightwing’s help. We’ll be back in about three days.”

“Alright, have a good time!”

Superman chuckles. A charming, musical thing that has half of the world smitten with him. “Will do.”

-

“He’s totally stealing Dick for something not-mission related,” Jason pipes up, an hour after they checked back in to the Batcave. He’s still wearing his Kevlar underarmour. Leaning beside Tim against a desk cluttered with broken equipment.

Tim stops his tinkering to look up at him. “What,” Tim frowns. “What are you implying.”

“I’m just saying, I think they’re planning something for—” and Jason tilts his head towards where Bruce is looming over his batcomputer across the cave floor. Tim follows his gaze, rotating in his chair so they were both looking at their father.

“Shouldn’t he have taken Tim instead, though?” Duke materializes from behind his other shoulder, drying his hair with a white towel. “I mean, if I was planning something for Bruce, I’d ask Tim.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Duke.”

Jason opens his mouth to no doubt give a witty reply when Damian walks by, pushing Jason’s shoulder not-so-gently. “Move.”

Jason doesn’t budge. What did the boy expect? Jason is 6’1 feet of pure muscle. He just raises an eyebrow at Damian’s advancing back, humming. “Ouch, grouchy.”

Duke sighs. “Maybe _you_ shouldn’t have teased him about his boyfriend. He had that whole sexuality crisis thing going on for a while,” he taps the wood where Tim’s eyes were glued to.

Tim shrugs. “Eh. I’ll apologize never.”

Duke shakes his head. “I think right now would be a better choice,” he adds. “Anyways, I gotta go. See you.”

“Later,” says Jason and Tim in unison. They watch Duke’s head upstairs and Bruce on his batcomputer doing God knows what without saying a word.

Tim purses his lips and lets the silence stretch for a while.

“I think they stole Dick because they needed a stripper.”

Jason’s response to that is to choke on his Gatorade. Tim drags his chair away from the messy drippings. Really, he should know better by now.

-

They pick Dick up from the woods behind Gotham State University on a Friday night. There’s a clearing behind it perfect for hosting a dozen superheroes. Because for some reason, a dozen superheroes decided they needed to escort Dick home from the off-world mission.

Tim and Jason take the bat-mobile there, because it’s cool, but also because the three of them obviously won’t fit on either one of Jason or Tim’s bikes. The _cooler_ thing is, that Bruce _actually_ _lets_ them drive the bat-mobile.

Tim supposes it’s for efficiency, and they’re both legal to drive anyway, but still, the looks on these metas’ faces when the bat-mobile pulls up and it’s Red Robin and Red Hood who step out are _priceless_. Tim wishes he has a camera.

Tim slams the bat-mobile door harder than necessary and nods at Superman—he earns a few annoyed stares and a few awed ones. “Hey, we’re here to pick up one of ours.”

Superman smiles at them, all sunshine and kittens. “Red Robin, Red Hood,” he greets them. “Nightwing is over there, talking to our newer recruits.” Superman points with his thumb behind him. Tim peers around to get a better look. True enough, about five of the newer Justice League members are milling around Dick, asking him questions and listening with rapt attention at Dick’s answers. His older brother is taking it all in stride.

He looks like he belongs.

“He’ll make a fine leader of the League, someday,” Superman says, as if reading Tim’s mind.

“Oh,” Tim answers, “I suppose.”

“Where’s your father?”

“Out.”

“He didn’t come to get Nightwing?”

“You know him,” Tim says, “he doesn’t do social functions.”

Superman sighs. “Sounds like him.”

Jason is standing behind the two of them, arms crossed and looking every bit of the criminal that he isn’t anymore. Green Lantern approaches him (Kyle—Tim has to make that perfectly clear—not Hal) and Jason engages in conversation.

“I still don’t understand why all of you have to be here for this.”

Superman hums. Tim doesn’t know if Clark realized but he’s floating a little bit above ground now. “There was a situation, the others felt bad about letting him go without supervision.”

Tim makes an interested noise. “Did he, by any chance, get married to some kind of alien monarch?”

Superman squints and tilts his head, considering. “Something like that, I guess?”

Tim stares at him, not quite gaping, but not quite not-surprised either. “You’re pulling my leg here.”

Superman grins and laughs, putting a familiar arm on his shoulder. “Of course, Tim, whatever you say.”

Tim’s communicator beeps, two short noises that indicates Batman requires their immediate presence.

“I think I have to go,” Tim utters. “Nightwing,” he calls out, voice loud enough to carry to where Dick is. Dick seems to just notice their presence. He shakes off the recruits with a few smooth sentences and is on his way to Tim and Jason immediately. Tim doesn’t miss the way the newbies follow Dick even after he’s excused himself, as if tethered by a leash. And then, confused that they are, stops dead in their track.

Tim smiles. A good leader indeed.

They say their goodbyes to the Justice League, with quite a few offers to him and Dick about joining the League on their own, not as an affiliate to Batman. Jason doesn’t get any, because he’s dead. But also, because the Justice League can be full of self-righteous assholes sometimes. Depending on the roster.

Dick drives the bat-mobile back. Hierarchy of age and all that. Tim is in the backseat, hacking his way through the sprinkler system at Oliver Queen’s house because he can, and also because he remembers how much of a dick Oliver Queen is.

“So,” Tim observes, “I heard you got married to an alien queen, how did _that_ happen?”

-

Jason likes to pretend things like still being called a criminal doesn’t affect him anymore. Well, Jason likes to pretend he’s _above_ it all. Or below. Depends on his mood, but Tim is the sort of person who can smell bullshit a mile away, and by the looks of it, he knows that the event earlier bothers Jason more than he let on. If Tim’s attempts at conversation says anything.

“Do you think they’re really,” Tim suggests, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. They’re doing a stake-out. Tim’s lying down on his side on the dirty rooftop floor, one hand supporting his head, the other barely holding his binoculars. “In, y’know, a relationship?”                                        

“I think they’re not there yet,” Jason answers, checking his watch. _Subject enters the Pullman Penthouse at 0109AM_. He whispers into the little recording device clipped onto the collar of his jacket. “But they will be. Two months tops.”

“Two months? I’ll give it a week.” Tim proposes.

“That’s kind of fast.”

“Well, you should have seen Clark’s face when I said Batman didn’t want to be there.”

“I didn’t see Diana either, though.”

“I think Diana went and tracked Batman down, somebody tweeted out seeing Wonder Woman punching Batman.”

“Should we be worried?”

“Nah. They were probably making out.”

Jason grimaces. “Oh god, gross.”

They lapse in silence for a while, sometimes punctuated by the tapping of Tim’s fingers on his binoculars. That is, until Tim decides he absolutely needed to get Jason talking again.

“So,” Tim raises. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can tell me stuff, right, or you can ask me to rig someone’s something.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Also, Justice League people really don’t know what they’re doing, sometimes.”

“I know.”

“And you’re just really scary by default.”

Jason sighs. Don’t get him wrong—Jason doesn’t mind being called a criminal. He _is_ one. His methods, when operating alone, are way below Bruce’s moral standards. What got him feeling so out of his skin is the fact that they alienate him so easily from his brothers. The whole bat-family or whatever steals illegal information to base their operations on. The whole bat-clan has done illegal things, too, but sometimes it’s so clear who has blood on their hands and who doesn’t. Jason felt, for a moment, that he doesn’t belong in the family. After more than a year of being used to being included in everything.

 “Apparently not scary enough because you won’t stop bugging me with all this emotional shit.”

“Well, I’m not scared of _you_.”

“That’s because you don’t have enough brain cells.”

“If you think that my two brain cells aren’t enough to give me enough power to dominate the world then you are dead wrong.” Tim punctuates the last words of his statement by nudging Jason with the edge of his binoculars.

Jason rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips are ticked up.

“I’m serious! The Justice League members are idiots! Their mission records are ugly! Have you _seen_ their retrieval time?” Tim whisper-yells.

Jason can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh—oh McFucking God, you can’t just say shit like that. Superman will hear you and he will _smite_ you.”

Tim deadpans. “Do I look like I care?”

Jason howls.

“He can come _smite_ me anytime. See if _that_ can get him access inside Batman’s pants.”

“Fine! I’m fine, oh God—” Jason manages, his laughter subsiding into an easy chuckle. “No delicate feelings were offended this good spring night. Can you please drop it, now? Before I drop _you_ down this building.” Jason presses. “Seriously.”

Tim grins. Apparently satisfied enough that he can make Jason laugh. “Okay.”

Jason snickers.

Alright, he concedes. Maybe being labeled a criminal by the Justice League isn’t so bad after all. Who cares, right? So long as he’s got his family.

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT. 
> 
> Please leave a comment! I love to know which part people like the most. If you see any mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out to me.
> 
> Have a good day!
> 
> Come talk to me:  
> main tumblr: poythefloat  
> dc sideblog: sneakytimmytime  
> twitter: cryingingotham


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